Uncle William smiled. “Now, don’t you mind, Benjy. I’m figgerin’ on it. I reckon we ’ll manage to live along—somehow.” “The place is his,” said Bodet, “bought and paid for—” “A thousand dollars,” said Uncle William. Bodet looked at him—then he groaned softly. “And he ’ll use your land, and mine, for a door-yard—and the beach for a sand-pile. All he needs is land enough to build his hotel on—and he’s got it.” “Yes, he’s got it,” admitted William, “and they must have quite a piece of building done, by this time—They’re adding on and raising up, Andy said.” Uncle William got to his feet. “I reckon I’ll go take a look at it.” He glanced at the harbor. “No kind o’ day to fish—George Manning working?” he asked casually. “Yes—he’s working.” Bodet’s tone was a little stiff. “Um-m—” Uncle William moved off a little distance. He drew his dory up the beach, and pottered about a little. “I was just going out to see to the Jennie,” he said. “But she’s all right—and mebbe it ’ll blow over.” He looked up at the sky. “I o’t to get some things down ’t the store—” He felt in his pockets. “You got any money, Benjy?” Benjy shook his head. “I can give you a cheque if you want it.” There was a little, quizzical smile with the words. Uncle William paused, his hand half drawn from his pocket—a light filled his face, and a little laugh. “That ’ll do, Benjy—that ’ll do fust-rate,” he said. Bodet drew out his cheque book and opened it. “How much do you want!” he asked. Uncle William paused. He looked at the cliffs, and at the sky—“I might want a considabul,” he said slowly—“Couldn’t you just sign your name down there, Benjy, the way you do, and let me get what I need?” Bodet looked at him a minute. Then he signed the cheque and handed it to him—a little smile in his eyes. “Tell me what you make it,” he said. “Oh, I’ll tell you,” said Uncle William cordially. “I’d tell you now—only I don’t know how much it ’ll cost—what I’m going to buy.” He moved off up the beach. At the foot of the cliff he paused and looked back. “Mebbe I’ll see Harriet,” he said. “Her temper ain’t good. But she’s firm, and she’s got sense.” Bodet shook his head. “The thing is tied tight, William. I looked into it before I came down.” “‘D you see Moseley?” said William. “He could tell ye. He knows the Island—and everybody on it.” “Yes, I saw him. He said the papers were drawn and signed—two weeks ago—in his office. You’re not dealing with Andy—this time, William.” “I guess I’ll go see Harr’et,” said Uncle William cheerfully. “And don’t you worry, Benjy. The’ ain’t nobody going to set on your land without you want ’em to—it ain’t right—and it ain’t goin’ to be.” Uncle William smiled—a great, reassuring smile—and mounted the zigzag path to the cliff. For a minute his figure loomed against the sky at the top. Then it disappeared over the edge, headed toward Andy’s house. XIX THE large man came softly along the beach, treading with light, smooth steps.